


Shred Me Down To Strips (You're Way Too Good At It)

by Waffle-o (XylB)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Blood Kink, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Crying, FAHC, GTA Universe, Gun Kink, I think that's it - Freeform, I'm sorry for anyone who followed me for tamer stuff, M/M, Multi, Murder, Rimming, Sex, Unsafe Sex, and no proper lube in general, but the threesome is consensual, but this is seriously hardcore, guys this is filthy, highly unsafe don't use stranger's blood as lube, in a sex way, let me know if I left out a tag, lowkey sub!Ryan, oh and this is all consensual, serious blood kink, there is a gun up someone's ass, very lowkey, well the dead guy might not agree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9425240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/Waffle-o
Summary: This is how they take the Vagabond apart and how they put him back together when theurgegets too strong, too violent and all he wants is blood and bones.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Tiesto's "Escape Me".

The Vagabond's got blood marring the nicotine stains on his fingers, dripping and beautiful in the low light of the club. Michael grins, all teeth, and watches Ryan drags his fingers through the bloody mess of the guy's chest, a sort of euphoric giddiness setting in behind Michael's teeth. The gun's still smoking next to his hip, the clip mostly empty with the bullets he put into the guy's chest.

Ryan grins cruelly and Michael can't help but kiss him, licking away the taste of smoke and blood and replacing it with his breath. The music blasts through the flimsy walls of the private room and only heightens the thrill in Michael's veins, electricity sparking down his spine and hardly cooled by Ryan's mouth.

“Hey, what are – oh my god, you guys, how the hell are we supposed to cover this?” Ray, pushing the door shut behind him and locking it again, stowing his lockpicking set. No one replies and no one needs to.

Michael gets Ryan to fuck him on the bed, mere feet away from the dead body in the chair. It's heated and messy and Michael comes with a hoarse shout torn from his throat by Ryan's harsh thrusts. He turns his head to the side and sees Ray's dark, mischievous eyes, glittering in the dim light. Michael grins and lowers his legs from Ryan's hips so Ray can wind a hand in Ryan's hair and forcefully tug him back, an order. Ryan goes so fucking easily, sliding out of Michael and he's flipped on his back next to him, no chance to breath before Ray's kissing him dirty with blood on his fingers and smeared over Ryan's cheeks.

A combination of spit and blood disappears between Ryan's legs and Ray fucks him rough against the scratchy bedsheets, one hand tight on Ryan's throat and the other planted by his side, ragged nails digging into the bloodstained sheet. Ryan falls to jagged pieces between them, gasping and moaning in spite of the chokehold, arching up fucking beautifully and coming all over Michael's hand. Ryan's fingers draw bloody lines down Ray's arm, and when that dries he rakes his nails harsher, raising attractive red lines that make Michael's mouth water.

Ray comes quietly inside Ryan and together, with shaking fingers and fresh blood – Michael twists two fingers inside a bullet wound and Ryan groans at the sight – Michael and Ray force an unwilling – not really, not truly unwanted - orgasm from Ryan, making him whimper and beg and almost _cry_ between them.

Almost isn't good enough – Michael meets Ray's wicked grin with an even sharper smile.

Ray puts his mouth to good work between Ryan's legs, sucking noisily and licking out the bitter combination of come and blood and sweat inside Ryan, forcing his hips still with iron grips around his thighs. Michael slots his fingers under Ryan's jaw and squeezes again – he can't choke him as good as Ray can, not nearly, but he's good _enough_ – pressing his knuckles into that sensitive place between his windpipe and his jugular and gasping at the rush of blood that surges under his palm. Ryan holds Michael's hand tight, begging without words, and Michael watches his eyes go unfocused as Ray works.

More blood and more come – Michael's, this time – and Ray's easing the barrel of Michael's shotgun in, not enough to hurt but enough to make him shudder and _whine_. He does cry, this time, suffocating on strangled versions of their names and tears sliding down to his ears as he comes dry, shuddering hard and nearly breaking Ray's hold on him.

Ray's lips are a fucking _mess_ when he pulls away, dripping with some filthy combination of come and spit and blood and Michael gladly kisses it off of him, loosening his grip on Ryan's throat so Ryan can suck in shaky breaths while Ray licks to Michael's fucking _tonsils_ , forcing Michael's mouth open dirty-wide and drawing these little pleased groans from him.

Ryan starts trembling uncontrollably under them – adrenaline and oversensitivity and the sheer _thrill_ of what they've just done and Michael kisses him back to steady as Ray pulls their clothes back on.

The Vagabond's got blood marring the pretty streak of dried tears and Michael thumbs it away while he waits for Ryan to pull himself back together and to stop shaking quite so much. The flames of adrenaline licking at his heels subside and in their place rises a desperate, terrifying urge to go jump off a roof – feel the sweat on his palms and the risk in his teeth and to _drown_ in it. And as he grounds Ryan, Ryan grounds him, keeping his feet firmly on the ground and chasing those reckless desires away to make room for the stench of blood and sweat and _Ryan_.

They leave the body in the room when they make their slow getaway, delayed by quick kisses and wandering hands that never really stop – too good, too warm to pull away from, but even warmer is the blood that spills over Ray's fingers when he slashes the throat of the guard that tries to stop them – as if _anyone_ could stop them.

They can damn well try, but Michael wouldn't take that bet.


End file.
